


Life is a road and I want to keep going

by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel



Series: Natasha/Darcy Grosse Pointe Blank AU [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: AU, Assassins & Hitmen, F/F, Femslash, School Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:53:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3535268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is fine, until Natasha receives an invitation to her ten-year high school reunion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life is a road and I want to keep going

**Author's Note:**

> _So, here is part one of the series! (Being posted last, I know that's terrible, but oh well.) I hope you guys enjoy it._

**Life is a road and I want to keep going**

It’s a warm morning when Natasha stalks into her office building. She’s dressed like an office worker, in a white blouse and pencil skirt, nothing special, but she still attracts admiring glances as she disappears through the doorway, into the building lobby. She presses the elevator button impatiently, and waits for the elevator doors to open. The elevator plays annoying muzak as Natasha waits for it to reach her floor.

All in all, Natasha could be anyone, just another office worker on a Monday morning.

The illusion is dispelled as the elevator doors open and her assistant says, without looking up: “The client is very displeased. They wanted his death to appear natural.”

But then, that’s one of the hazards of working as an assassin. Moments of normality are few and far between.

“And good morning to you too, Eloise,” Natasha says, walking across to her office to place her briefcase on her desk.

“This is serious,” Eloise says severely, leaving her desk to follow Natasha into her office. She has a folder in her hands. “You know this is one of our biggest clients. We can’t afford to leave them unhappy.”

“These things happen,” says Natasha. “I had no way of knowing he was going to wake up. All the data suggested he’d be in a deep sleep that time of night. I couldn’t exactly let him go running off knowing there was an assassin after him. Tell them we’ll do the next job for free.”

“Already done,” Eloise says grudgingly. “But I’m not sure that will be enough. The client really needed it to be a natural-looking death. The murder investigation’s going to be a problem for them.”

“Well, I can’t do anything about that,” says Natasha. “You think I’m not annoyed about it? You know how I pride myself on my professionalism.”

Eloise sighs.

“I know,” she says, and hands Natasha the folder. “It’s just – I was on the phone for forty minutes with their guy. I’m feeling a little stressed.”

“I’m sorry,” says Natasha, because Eloise if Eloise is feeling stressed, then it must have been one hell of a phone call. “Well, take it easy for an hour or so. There isn’t anything else we need to deal with, is there?”

Eloise hesitates. Natasha narrows her eyes.

“Well, it’s not a business matter,” says Eloise. “But I thought you should take a look at it anyway. It’s personal.”

“I don’t do personal,” says Natasha, and means it. She has no personal life to speak of, and that’s the way she likes it. There’s no strings, no complications, just her and her job. The closest thing she has to a friend is Eloise, and their relationship is strictly professional.

“Well, the personal found you anyway,” Eloise says dryly. “This morning we received an email inviting you to your ten-year high school reunion.”

Natasha freezes.

“What? That shouldn’t be possible. How did they find me?”

“Who knows, but you got the invitation anyway. I put the printout in your ‘in’ tray,” Eloise says helpfully, and waits expectantly.

Natasha considers ignoring the printout, but Eloise is clearly waiting for her to read it, so Natasha reluctantly picks it out of her ‘in’ tray and looks it over.

Sure enough, it’s an email purporting to be from Natasha’s old high school, inviting her to her school reunion. There’s a postscript apologising for the short notice, explaining that Natasha was difficult to track down. Natasha would hope so; she’s gone to considerable effort to make herself hard to trace.

“It seems legit,” says Natasha dubiously, staring down at the printout.

“Are you going to go?” Eloise asks.

Natasha raised both perfectly-plucked eyebrows high.

“Are you kidding? What am I going to do? Network?”

“You never know, there’s probably someone who could use an assassin’s services,” Eloise says with a smirk.

“Very funny,” says Natasha. “No, really. Why would I go to my reunion? It’s a waste of time.”

Eloise looks disappointed, but undaunted.

“Isn’t there anyone you want to see?” she asks. “Old friends? Family? Just a look at the good ol’ hometown?”

Natasha looks at her.

“Why are you so invested in this?”

Eloise shrugs.

“I just find it amusing that the Black Widow came from somewhere.”

“Everyone comes from somewhere,” Natasha says. “Some of us spend the rest of our lives trying to forget it.”

Eloise takes the cue for what it is and finally leaves Natasha alone in her office. Natasha goes back to staring at the email.

The very fact that it’s sitting in her hands, existing, is unsettling. The reminder of a life that Natasha left behind long ago makes her feel uncomfortable for reasons she has no wish to articulate, even to herself.

Natasha has no illusions about herself; she knows she isn’t a particularly nice person. It’s something she’s more or less comfortable with, by this point. But she fought long and hard to get to this point, to become a version of herself who doesn’t hate everything she is.

The Natasha of ten years ago was a very different person. She was a lot angrier and a lot more helpless, for one thing.

Natasha doesn’t like feeling helpless, but the innocuous-looking invitation in front of her reminds her all-too-easily of what it used to feel like. Natasha wants to throw the thing in the trash, but she can’t quite bring herself to.

Natasha frowns, and thinks of beautiful eyes and a friendly, open smile.

Natasha shakes her head, and shoves the email back in her ‘in’ tray.

* * *

Natasha would like to say that that’s the last she thinks of the invitation, but it isn’t. For one thing, Eloise is strangely reluctant to let the matter drop, and keeps reminding Natasha of its existence.

“Don’t you feel at all nostalgic?” Eloise asks. “Wasn’t there anything you liked about high school?”

“Nope,” says Natasha shortly. Eloise leans in the doorway.

“What about the life you had back then? Surely you had hopes and dreams that didn’t involve being an assassin.”

“I was born to be an assassin,” Natasha says, deadpan. “From my earliest moments, all I could think of was the day when I could become a killer for hire.”

Eloise gives Natasha a scrutinising look.

“You know, I can’t tell if you’re kidding,” she says finally.

“Of course I’m kidding,” says Natasha. “I didn’t grow up wanting to be an assassin. I just kind of… ended up one.”

Eloise makes a pitying noise before she returns to her desk, which Natasha finds irritating, but not enough to call her out on it.

So, that’s one reason why Natasha hasn’t been able to forget the invitation. The other reason she can’t forget it is…

Well, she just can’t forget, is all.

Natasha finds herself thinking about the invitation at odd moments. In the shower. Eating lunch. Setting up her sniper rifle in the middle of a job. It’s annoying, but she can’t get the thing out of her mind. It isn’t the idea of meeting everyone she went to school with; Natasha wasn’t exactly popular back then, and didn’t mix much, and she honestly doesn’t care what happened to most of her classmates.

The key word, though, is ‘most.’

Because, try as she might, Natasha’s brain keeps circling back around to Darcy Lewis, and that’s where the problem is.

Darcy Lewis. Where even to begin? Darcy had been the best friend Natasha could have asked for, and Natasha hasn’t had a friend like her before or since. The truth is, it’s been ten years, but Natasha still misses the quirky, caring, funny girl she left behind.

It’s not like Natasha has spent the last ten years obsessing over her best friend, because she hasn’t. Natasha moved on and left that life behind a long time ago. But it’s true to say that Natasha has thought of Darcy wistfully from time to time. The high school reunion would be a perfect time to bring Darcy back into her life, even if it’s only for a night.

Natasha isn’t exactly proud of the person she’s become, but she kind of wants Darcy to meet her, anyway.

Natasha swears as she makes this realisation. She needs help.

Natasha dials a number that she knows by heart, and waits.

“ _Yeah?_ ” says the person she’s just called, sounding like he’s barely awake.

“Clint,” says Natasha. “We need to meet for lunch.”

Clint makes a surprised noise, and goes, “ _Natasha?_ ” A second later he processes her words and says, “ _Wait, we do?_ ”

“I need your advice,” Natasha explains reluctantly.

“ _You want advice from me?_ ” Clint says incredulously, and Natasha can’t blame him; Clint’s life is a series of unfortunate events and poor choices all strung together to make an incoherent whole. But it’s not like Natasha can talk to anyone else about this.

“Don’t make this difficult, Clint,” she says.

“ _Okay, okay_ ,” Clint agrees, still sounding surprised. “ _Where do you want to meet?_ ”

* * *

They meet in one of Natasha’s favourite restaurants. Natasha is there five minutes early, still wearing smart office-worker garb, and peruses the menu for something to do while she waits for Clint.

Clint arrives ten minutes late, in jeans and an old purple t-shirt. One of his socks is missing.

Sometimes Natasha despairs of him. This is one of those times.

“Nice outfit,” says Natasha as Clint sits down.

“Shut up,” says Clint, and grabs a menu. A waiter walks over to their table, gives Clint a carefully blank look, and turns to Natasha.

“Are you ready to order?” he asks.

Natasha raises an eyebrow at Clint, who shrugs and nods. The two of them order their food, and  the waiter smiles, tells them that their food will be ready soon, and disappears again.

“So,” says Clint. “What’s bothering you?”

Natasha is silent for a long moment. She’s known Clint since they were both inexperienced teenage assassins who ended up working together on the same job, and he’s the closest thing she has to family. Even so, there’s a lot she’s never told him.

“I got an invitation to my school reunion,” she finally says.

Clint immediately looks at her intently. He knows enough about what Natasha’s home life was like, growing up, that he understands why she vowed never to return to her hometown.

“So don’t go.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Okay.” Clint accepts this answer. “Why isn’t it that simple?”

Natasha cringes a little as she hears the words coming out of her mouth.

“There was this girl,” she says, and dies a little inside.

Clint’s expression is disbelieving at first, then delighted when he realises that Natasha is completely serious.

“You’re telling me that you’re all hung up about this because of a _girl?”_ he asks, with far too much glee.

“I know a dozen ways to kill you,” Natasha tells him pleasantly.

“Really, a _girl?_ ” Clint is enjoying himself. “Natasha Romanov, stone-cold assassin, having some kind of crisis because of–”

Natasha’s glare could peel paint.

“Seriously?” Clint asks.

“Yes,” Natasha admits grudgingly.

“Okay.” Clint composes himself. “Tell me about this girl.” The corner of his mouth ticks up, but he manfully forces it down, and does his best to look serious, even though he clearly wants to laugh.

Natasha shrugs.

“There’s not much to tell. We were best friends in high school, I left, and we’ve never spoken since.”

“That tells me nothing,” said Clint. “When you say you haven’t spoken since, do you mean she refused to talk to you, or–”

“I left without leaving a forwarding address,” Natasha clarifies. “Or saying that I was leaving.”

Clint gapes for a second.

“Okay,” he says after a moment. “I’m starting to see why this is complicated. You’re afraid she might make a scene at the reunion?”

“I’m not even sure I want to go to the damn reunion,” Natasha says irritably. “I just…”

Clint waits patiently.

“I’d like to see her again,” Natasha admits. “Even if it means going back to my hometown. The reunion gives me a reason to see her.”

“Okay, let me lay it out for you,” says Clint. “You go to the reunion, you find your ex-BFF, you say, ‘hi, how are you doing?’ and make small talk, and then you tell her that it would be great if you could be friends again, or maybe go on a date sometime–”

“What?” Natasha interrupts. “No, I – I don’t–”

She stops, because Clint is giving her a look. A patient, knowing, understanding look, that tells her to cut the bullshit.

Natasha sighs.

“Fine. Go on.”

“As I was saying, then you ask her if she maybe wants to go on a date sometime, because I _know_ you, Natasha, and you do not get this hung up over _friends_.”

“This is why I don’t do personal,” Natasha grumbles, but doesn’t argue, because Clint is right, damn him. “It makes things messy.”

“But in a good way,” says Clint, who is an expert on how the personal makes things messy. Normally, ‘there’s this girl,’ is his line.

Natasha puts her head in her hands.

“Fine,” she says. It comes out muffled. “I’ll go to the reunion. And if it goes horribly, I’m blaming you.”

“Sure, just make sure you take a photo of this girl,” says Clint. “I want to see this person who’s made you so flustered.”

“You are a terrible person,” says Natasha.

“Nah,” says Clint. “I’m surprisingly loveable.” He leans across to pat Natasha’s arm. “You’ll be fine,” he adds.

It says a lot about Natasha’s current feelings that she actually finds comfort in the gesture.

* * *

On the long drive down to her hometown, Natasha thinks about retiring.

She never actually set out to become an assassin, after all; it was something she fell into, rather than something she sought out. And while it’s exciting, and pays well, sometimes Natasha feels that her life is missing some important element – that there’s a hollowness to her life that can’t be overcome, no matter how she tries. It’s not a feeling that Natasha has often, but it happens frequently enough that she’s given the matter serious thought.

The problem is, without her job, Natasha wouldn’t know what to do with herself. Being a hired killer is all she’s ever known. So much of Natasha’s life has been defined by what she does that Natasha isn’t sure who she’d be without it.

Some stupid, romantic part of her kind of wants to find out, though.

Natasha wonders what Darcy would think of her career choices. The Darcy of ten years ago would have thought it was cool, probably, but ten years is enough time to grow up and realise that being an assassin means that real people _die._

Natasha shakes her head, and tells herself that it doesn’t matter what Darcy thinks of her.

The folder with the information on her next job is sitting in Natasha’s briefcase. Natasha knows from Eloise that it’s someone from her hometown, but Natasha hasn’t actually read the file yet. She’s going to wait until after the reunion is over to do the job: it’s just easier that way, to get the reunion out of the way first, then do the job last so that she can get out of town fast, if she needs to.

Natasha reaches the outskirts of her hometown late in the afternoon, and breezes past the town’s welcome sign without a second glance. As Natasha hits the main part of town, she reflects that being here is jarring. Some things are exactly the same as they were when she left, but other things have changed: there are new buildings in places, and old ones missing in others; the combination of newness and the familiar is an uncomfortable one.

Natasha drives through the centre of town, and out into the suburbs. She pulls up in front of a building which clearly began life as a house, although it has since been converted into a supermarket. Natasha stares up at it.

Her parents died six years ago in a car crash. Natasha didn’t go home for the funeral – didn’t go home at all – but the lawyer in charge of executing the will had gotten in touch with her, and informed her that she had been left everything. Natasha isn’t sentimental, and the house where she grew up had never been a home: there were too many dark memories attached to that house for her to want to keep it. Natasha had instructed the lawyer to sell everything – she didn’t care to who.

Now, Natasha walks into the supermarket that used to be the house where she lived as a child.

It doesn’t look like her house. It doesn’t look like a house at all. Natasha wanders around the store, lets her eyes trail over the products for sale, and smiles to herself.

Her parents are probably rolling in their graves. The thought brings a certain amount of satisfaction.

Natasha is on her way towards the door when a man walks in. Natasha catalogues him immediately; sees the way he moves, smoothly and without hesitation, his gaze taking in everything around him, and notes the slight bulge in his jacket that suggests a badly-fitted gun holster. The man’s eyes meet Natasha’s, and for a moment, Natasha doesn’t know what’s going to happen. He smirks, and makes a gun-shape with his hand, and mimes shooting her as he walks past.

As the other assassin heads to the back of the store, Natasha leaves in a hurry. She gets in her car and peels out of the parking lot immediately, putting distance between her and the supermarket, and the man inside it. Her heart is beating fast, but her mind is cool and calculating.

After about ten minutes Natasha pulls over, and dials a number on her phone. She starts talking as soon as the call is picked up.

“Clint? I need your help. There’s another assassin after me and I need someone to watch my back…”

* * *

It’s only later that she realises that she’s being tailed by a couple of guys in suits who look remarkably like federal agents.

It seems like her school reunion has the potential to become extremely interesting, Natasha thinks darkly.

Fortunately, other assassins and federal agents she knows how to handle.

She’s still not too certain about the school reunion.


End file.
